


Car Trouble

by angelkilt



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, mormor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 03:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelkilt/pseuds/angelkilt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots and drabble about my favorite criminal mastermind and his favorite live-in. Ranging from the 'mildly fluffy but mostly creepy' to 'oh my God Jim what is WRONG with you' to 'damn Sebastian you have a nice arse'. First chapter contains no smut and only mild violence, but after that I can guarantee nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Car Trouble

_Smith on 53rd street, deliver the blueprints to the Russians in Lambeth, book the tickets to Naples-_ CRASH - _What the fuck was that?_

A loud and persistent series of noises from the trunk of the black Astra hijacked Sebastian’s mental to-do list. Muttering a quiet litany of curses the sniper pulled over to the side of the road. He leaned his head out the window for a moment, checking his tires.

 

The car was an old piece of shit, but it was common and subtle. He could go about his business without drawing any unnecessary attention. This facet of the Astra’s personality had become increasingly useful as the Boss began giving Sebastian more frequent and intricate tasks. Gone were the days of being given nothing but an address and a face, gone were the days when all he needed was his rifle… now he could be sent to help mediate between two conflicting druglords in South America, be sent to pick up a large arms shipment in Cairo, and still be expected to pick up the Boss’ drycleaning all before Sunday.

 

Calling Sebastian’s change in employment, sudden, would be a bit of an understatement. It had been a simple job, a group of the Boss’ thugs were told to show up, look menacing, (and possibly break a leg or two) while some ‘things’ were exchanged between two ‘parties’. What it really boiled down to was Sebastian glowering as two old men traded manilla envelopes. Of course, each man brought their own little group of guns, but after the initial sizing up it became evident that they weren’t going to be trying anything. After all the Boss didn’t get to his position by employing anyone less than perfect for their position.

 

As is want to happen during these situations, the men couldn’t just trade and leave. They spent nearly two hours whispering in some kind of coded Italien. A fucking waste of effort considering the only people who could hear them couldn’t care less what they were saying. No one had ever warned Sebastian how boring freelance work could be. The sniper wondered if the gentlemen would be fossilizing before he could go home.

 

Then when things were starting to reach a conclusion, this poncy Irish bastard in a suit waltzes into the room like he fucking owns the place. Little did Sebastian know, he did in fact own the place.

 

The gentlemen making the deal both looked like they were ready to wet themselves, and he didn’t hear any shots from the men on the perimeter, so Sebastian figured he was supposed to be there. He began to zone out again as the interloper began a highly affected speech. Apparently fluent in coded Italian.

He twirled around the room, all big gestures and dramatic facial expressions. He reminded Sebastian of a teenager auditioning for a play. As preposterous as the short man was, he had all the important people in the room wrapped around his finger and that made their dogs nervous. Even the two neutral thugs next to him seemed unnerved, it took all of his years of military training not to smirk.

The man froze suddenly, snapping his fingers in Sebastian’s general direction. He barked out a command in the code and then seemed incredible annoyed when no one responded. Rolling his eyes he drawled, “Do any of you have any gum?”

 

The men at his sides stiffened and Sebastian found himself practically mirroring the shorter man’s annoyance. He reached into his jacket pocket, jarring his shoulder holster, and pulled out a pack of gum.

 

It was ripped out of his hands before he could protest. The man took his time pulling out and unwrapping a stick before plopping it in his mouth. All the while dragging his gaze up Sebastians form. The sniper shifted slightly feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The man smiled slightly before flicking his eyes up to meet Sebastian’s.

 

He was quiet for a moment, concentrating on Sebastian’s face. Sebastian wondered if that was what it felt like to be on the wrong end of his rifle.

 

“You’ll do.” The man turned on his heel and strode towards the door. “Come along Tiger, we haven’t got all day.”

 

A few hours later the sniper learned that the man in the Westwood was the Boss, M, James Mother-fucking Moriarty. Life had gotten weird after that.

 

When you think about working for a criminal mastermind, you expect to have some out of the ordinary experiences: Calls at 3 am, disposing of bodies, getting somebody who needs to get got…. you don’t expect to have to sit through three hours of intensive acupuncture to raise your resistance to needles, or to have to stuff a dead cat full of someone’s old home videos to make a statement.

 

The Boss was incredibly possessive, controlling, charming, distant, clingy, physical, cold, hot, and fascinating. He was like a wind up toy being eaten by an alligator in the middle of a hurricane headed for an open volcano. It was definitely going to end badly, but he had to see it through.

 

Sebastian pulled the keys out of the ignition climbed out of the Astra. Normally his gun case was strapped down in the boot so it wouldn’t tumble about, but straps weren’t infallible. He walked around the front of the car first, to keep his front to oncoming traffic, and jammed the keys into the lock of the boot.

 

The door swung up leaving the sniper stunned. There in boot of the Astra was the Boss, M, James Mother-Fucking Moriarty looking incredibly put out.

 

“Aw, you spoiled the surprise.” 

 

“Wha- wha-”

 

“Welp, looks like you live to see another day, Tiger.” The Boss uncoiled himself like a snake and stepped out of the car. Sebastian was able to catch sight of his gun case and a pickaxe before the door had been slammed shut. The Boss grabbed the keys out of the lock and glided to the driver’s side door, not giving a single thought to the traffic.

 

“Wait, what the fuck are you doing?” Sebastian snapped following after him. Before he could make it to the door, the Boss was pulling away.

 

“Enjoy your day off!” The Astra screeched in protest before bolting away, leaving Sebastian in a cloud of exhaust.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright part of this idea comes from Kevin Heart's latest comedy special on Netflix. I suggest you watch it cause it's funny as fuck. Also this is as fluffy as these two get.


End file.
